For all the wealths of India
by Donator
Summary: Picking up where Sands of Time left us to muse and wonder. (UPDATED Chapter 7)
1. For all the wealths of India Chapter 1

Wonderful, words fail me to describe it, it's so fantastic, yet actually quite frightening at first… with a sudden crack the rain stopped, the birds fell silent… then it happened. Like the whole world was painted on a veil of silk and somebody just walked through it, as if all that eyes behold was merely a reflection in a pool of water, and a stone had been thrown at the very centre of it. The world… dented. The palace, the jungle, the very sky… it all blinked and flickered as beheld through a candles flame or hot desert air. But that was only just the beginning. Had she been standing rooted to the spot a mere moment ago, gaping open mouthed at the Persian soldier disappearing in the bushes below her balcony, the dagger now even seized control over her body, and while everything around her blurred, it felt as if she stood beside herself and watched how her mouth closed, her back stiffened and her body made a few gentle steps backwards… through time.

It happened… I mean… it will happen.

The young Persian reappeared before her, still hugging the palm bole, though now he weirdly swung himself back forward over the balustrade. Then it was over, the reversion had stopped, the washed out colours suddenly returned to normal and the agonizing din transformed back to the usual rustling of leaves and bird chirps. Casually, as if absolutely nothing had happened, he stood right before her again, looking her over with those sad dark eyes, and prepared to take his leave.

"…it was just that, a story."

He was about to set a boot onto the handrail, again, when her sudden outcry and the clattering noise of the dagger hitting the stone floor held him back…

"Princess…?" he glanced over his shoulder.

Had she kept a respectable distance and mustered him with suspicious curiosity, now her back was to the wall and her face an expression of utter shock, but her gaze wasn't transfixed on the stranger any more, but rather on the aquablue crystal blade resting peacefully at her feet, doing nothing apart from glistering mysteriously.

"By the gods, how did you do that?" she flustered in bewilderment.

"Do what?" he asked, turning his head in confusion, even looking down at himself if he had suddenly grown wings or changed colour.

His initial puzzlement was soon replaced by a gleam of understanding as he noticed her staring at the dagger of time, then gave way to the broadest of grins possible.

"Liar! You said it was just a story…" she whispered hoarsely.

"Yes, I did."

"And then I asked your name…"

"No." He shook his head, smiling mildly "I guess you did not… yet." After carefully picking up the blade he made a cautious step forward and took her slender hand in his own, then handed her the dagger for a third and last time, "I am sorry for that. I am…"

"…now going to talk to my father", she sternly interrupted him, slowly finishing his sentence while grabbing his wrist firmly with her free hand. For a moment they silently stared at each other.

"So you finally believe me?"

"I am not sure what to believe…prince you say? Though I don't want to be the one explaining the death of the grand-vizier in my chambers and the theft of the dagger of time to him…you will be doing that. "

"I fear that he will not listen to me", he stammered, clearly dreading the thought of retelling a far fetched story of magical sand-monsters and timeloops to the Maharajahs face, or even worse, being accused of murder and thrown into those dreadful dungeons without a chance of explanation.

"Oh, he will. I promise you. That is, if you told the truth and there's indeed a vast foreign army lying ready less than a day from our gates."

"Please…" she added, pointing the dagger at his chin when he softly tried to pull away, "I insist… GUARDS!!!"


	2. For all the wealths of India Chapter 2

Not yet properly recovered from the initial shock the prince's hand reflexively shot to his sword handle when shouts were heard outside the chambers and countless angry fists and heavy boots started banging against the door. In precaution the vizier had obviously locked it from the inside to avoid disturbances, now a half dozen guards desperately attempted to break it down. Though Farah intensified the pressure of the dagger just a bit, and he let his hand sink.

"Don't…" she demanded softly "Please don't struggle, I won't let them harm you. But I can't just let you slip away my Persian friend."

"You insidious Indian snake… is that your thanks…?" he hissed furiously, which earned him a stern look and the dagger pressing even more uncomfortably against his throat.

"No. But…" she added amusedly "who said I shot him in the back and stole his weapons? I must say it seems you didn't learn much from your own story..."

Splintering of wood and a ground shaking crash announced that manpower had finally overcome obstinate timber. In seconds the room was swarming with armoured soldiers.

"PRINCESS!… What is it?… Vishnu help us… The Vizier!…Who did…?…Murderer! SEIZE HIM! SEIZE HIM!!!"

"DON'T KILL HIM!!!" Farah's shrill command evaporated almost unheard when a dozen guards threw themselves upon the helpless prince belly-flop style, completely burying him under a pile of flailing limbs before he could as much as blink an eye. "You idiotic blokes, are you deaf?! I ordered you to stand down!…"

"…Pin him down!… Don't let the bastard escape!… Yeah! I got his sword!…"

It took a few doughty kicks to finally make herself heard and the cheering soldiers to let go, one by one got up mumbling humble excuses into his beard to reveal a glassy eyed, somewhat crumpled prince whose initial cry of protest had subsided to a groan meanwhile.

"Back off you half-witted baboons! Oh, I am so sorry… Help him up! Help him up! Take him before the Maharajah. And don't you dare touching him again or I'll have you meet the tigers! Now move it, get out of my sight!"

Farah was shaking with fury and liberally distributed a few slaps to the men, most of which were one and a half heads bigger than herself, until they nodded and slouched off, carrying the prince with them. After carefully retrieving the dagger and wrapping it in a piece of cloth she quickly hustled off to follow them.

The throne room was empty though, and when she finally found them at the garden shrine, where the Maharajah used to be for his morning prayer at this hour, the prince was at his knees, hands bound on his back, and her perplexed father listening to the guards' confusing explanations of how they had found the vizier dead in his blood in the princess' chambers and the princess herself bravely fighting off this stranger with a dagger. One soldier proudly presented the prince's sabre. Farah shook her head, cursed under her breath and hurried to interfere.

"My child, dear! Are you hurt? What insanity! And in my own house! What happened here?"

Once he had caught sight of her the Maharajah hurried to embrace her, looked her up and down and kissed her on the forehead, but instantly froze in astonishment when she presented the small bundle she had brought with her.

"Father, look…"

The Maharajah quickly gazed at the prince, at the guards, the dagger, then back at her.

"You did well. Now get out…" he waved at the guards "…leave us alone."

…


	3. For all the wealths of India Chapter 3

"Hear, hear!"

"A sultan! A prince! Now even a Maharajah! What else will he come up with?!"

"Don't forget the sand-monsters…"

"…that was great, right!"

"Keep going!"

"Yeah! Keep going man, I wan to know what happens next!"

"Dear, that must be the longest tale that was ever told here…"

"Amazing! That time thing, simply amazing! You are the best!"

"Hey, what about the army?"

"Don't stop now!"

"Yeah! I'm gonna piss myself any second, but I wouldn't want to miss a word of it!…"

"…Ahmud, shut up, you old pig!"

"Three cheers and another round to the storyteller!"

"Put some coins on the table friends, he earned it!"

"Yeah, buy him another round. Even a bulldog would be hoarse by now!"

"Hah, a bulldog would be stinkin' DEAD after that much talking."

"Don't be stingy pals, I want to see a Dinar from each of you!"

"More beer!"

"Samir! BEER!"

The innkeeper had been sitting at the low round table, along with pretty much everyone else in the single room of the tavern tightly wrapped in a cheap camel-hair mantle against the nightly cold, and totally mesmerized by the stranger's words. Now that the sound of hard coins was being heard again he staggered to his feet and hustled for a new jug to please the few poor road travellers that had decided to spend the rest of the night at this godforsaken rat hole in the midst of nowhere. A mere couple of hours ago they had all been sipping hot cardamom tea and just silently stared at the fire like they usually did, but now that the storyteller was here the men ordered coffee and several rounds of old barley beer. One had even built up a water pipe, it's delicate flavour gently fought off the pungent smell from the nearby stable and almost made one forget that this was just a measly road inn, not one of the luxurious menhouses in the capital.

"What's this man doing here?" the innkeeper's wife hissed when her husband rummaged the pantry.

"Why, I don't care. The entire past month I didn't see as much coin as today," he growled in return and flicked his tongue appreciatively.

"Something's clearly not right about that man. When was the last time someone came out here on a horse? An then such a fine Arab stallion! What's a man with such a horse doing out here?!"

"You think he's a horsethief?"

Both of them glanced at the stranger, who was still sitting in the circle of men and calmly sipping his tea, but somehow provoked the strangest of feelings that he was indeed listening to their talking.

"I don't know." The innkeeper's wife toned her voice to a whisper, "But I briefly saw the armour he wears below that mantle. Tough ox leather, milled and riveted, like the best of the sultan's palace guards wear them."

"Really?…" he had curiously lifted his head only to hit it against one of the wooden beams holding the roof, now the innkeeper mumbled a curse and rubbed his head "You silly woman. What would a palace guard be doing out here telling stories all night…"

"Sure he's no guard," the woman folded her arms, slightly offended, but continued in a whisper "…but maybe he murdered one?"

"And even if he was one of Ahriman's demons and lord of a thousand sicknesses…" he spat back heatedly "if someone pays in gold he's always welcome here."

"In GOLD?!…" the woman quickly nabbed the coin her husband held high for her to see and bit on it, "Glorious Ahura! What are you waiting for, man? Quick! Bring him a drink! Just…" she held him back by his wrist, briefly looking troubled again "…just make sure we don't have to find out what's below that bulge the mantle makes on his back, well?…"

Cheers and a couple friendly pats on the back welcomed the return of the beer jug, and for a brief moment the innkeeper imagined he had seen the stranger smile quizzically, but the young man lifted his beaker to thank his auditors for their generosity, took a sip and pulled his mantle tighter around his body before he continued,

"Now, where was I…?"

…


	4. For all the wealths of India Chapter 4

"…leave us alone."

For a second long the soldiers exchanged puzzled looks, but didn't dare to ask questions and quickly obeyed, leaving the maharajah himself to interrogate the captive, who remained squatting on his heels in the wet grass and looked indeed quite miserable.

Glancing over his shoulder the maharajah snipped his fingers, "Shardul… you too. Guard the door, let no one in. And keep out of hearing range."

Farah stifled a surprised yelp when the brawny figure of the maharajah's captain of guards peeled from the shadow of a nearby tree, the bearded man with the mad eyes had scared her out of her wits more than once when she had been a small child, and until today his ability to remain unseen at a mere arms-length away managed to startle her once in a while. The seasoned warrior folded his hands for a bow and vanished without hesitation though.

"Certainly my lord, I'll do as you command."

Sunshine fell filtered through a network of countless twines that formed an artistic kind of roof over the courtyard, bathing the shrine and it's surrounding gardens in a soft golden light and leaving it cool and tranquil while the rest of the palace had to endure the sun's merciless burning by now. The heavy smell of countless jasmine flowers that stood in full blossom everywhere at this time of the year lay upon the place, like a wafting cloud of sweetness that threatened to slow thought to a crawl if one wasn't aware.

"Let me take this," the maharajah began after a moment of consideration, as if he disliked the idea of touching the magical weapon Farah still held in her hands "…child, tell me, how did this… dagger… find it's way into your possession?"

The prince glanced up at the sky, lost in his own thoughts while the sun warmed his face and Farah began to recount a quick summary of the past night's events, how he had climbed up to her balcony and charmed her with a fantastic story. "They'll surely have me beheaded…" the prince mused and almost laughed "after all that has happened, this is just rich…"

Deliberately leaving out the more embarrassing parts, Farah quickly cut to how the vizier had attempted to murder her, possibly betray the city to the enemy and then been heroically stopped by her nightly visitor.

"Ah," the maharajah sighed, turning his attention to the prince again "I felt in my bones that old snake charmer was up to something. Your trespassing shall be forgiven then, young lad, and I must apologize for the ill treatment you have experienced, for you have protected with your life what is most dear to me. Though it grieves me to say," he added bitterly, "that before we might show you our gratitude, there're still certain matters that need to be discussed…"

The prince swallowed dryly.

"…you DO know what this dagger is capable of?" the maharajah asked sternly, letting the sun mirror in the crystal blue edge of the dagger of time.

"And there goes my head…" crossed the prince's mind, yet he nodded slowly.

"You must know, my family successfully guarded this secret for many generations" the maharajah continued, pacing back and forth like a caged animal "and many a good man has died over the years to KEEP this danger a secret…"

"Father, he saved my LIFE, you can't mean to…" Farah interrupted with a bewildered, wide-eyed stare, but fell silent when the maharajah gestured her not to interfere "please…"

"…and you should also know that I am perfectly aware of the Persians standing at our borders, when there was no word from the western outposts in three days I had scouts sent out to inquire the reason, one even made it back alive…"

"…so I ask myself" the maharajah dilated his last words for emphasis "I ask myself: if what you told my daughter is indeed the truth and you are a son of king Shahraman of Persia… the man who led an army across the continent to plunder my kingdom… why risk your life to come to my house in the midst of the night, why kill a man that was about to hand over the city to your father, why voluntarily return a treasure of value beyond imagination? Explain yourself, and be aware that your very life might depend on the answers you give."

The prince lifted his head to meet the maharajah's gaze, and his words were not defiant, but full of dole and sorrow, "A thousand times I risked my life to safe what's dear to me and yet I almost failed. The man I killed deserved a thousand deaths, for his betrayals were just as many. And the cursed treasure I returned… bury it deep, so it might never see the light of day again, for all it caused me was pain and grief beyond measure…"

…


	5. For all the wealths of India Chapter 5

While his unruly steed impatiently pawed the sandy ground with the hoofs, the sultan stern-facedly scanned the skies once more for a signal that was obviously never to come. This should have been the triumphant conclusion of a very successful campaign, though the army was now far from home and reliable supply lines, and the dreaded jungle fever had claimed too many of the soldiers to risk an open assault on this gigantic fortress without help from the inside. Even more bothering, the prince was nowhere to be found, and no one had seen him leave the camp last night. His only son such a coward? But then he had been so eager for battle just a day ago, even demanded to join the fray at the main gate to fight amongst the elite troops…

The sultan's musings were suddenly interrupted when one of the scouting patrols returned, escorting a young Indian woman in most exquisite clothes and the two menservants accompanying her before him. She was an outstanding beauty, and the golden rings she wore around her neck, arms and feet were definitely worth a fortune. While the servants put down the baskets they had been carrying and threw themselves to the ground, the woman looked him straight in the eye and nodded her head imperceptibly, raising her hands to greet him as was customary in this country

"My lord and father, the Maharajah, bids you and your men welcome to Jaipur oh mighty king Shahraman, your fame and tidings of your strength and your soldiers' bravery have indeed spread far ahead of you. My name is Farah, I am a princess of Jaipur, the Maharajahs only child and here to conduct you a message of my father: my lord wishes not to wage war against the powerful sultan of Persia and rather invites you as a guest and friend to come and eat at his table, as he understands you must be weary from your perilous journeys. Though you also be warned that the arrow you are waiting for is not to come. The traitor is dead, Jaipur is prepared and will not fall to you easily. I am to offer you these gifts as a sign of good will, even myself as a hostage, and until he hears your answer my father hopes you will treat me as a guest, as he assures you he does with your son in the meantime..."

"The prince?! What of my son?" the sultan interrupted her sharply.

"Your son is one of the noblest men I ever had the honour to meet" she responded with another bow, "and I owe my very live to his bravery and skill with the blade. He asked me to hand you this helmet of his, so you see it is only the truth I speak. Be assured that the prince is treated with befitting reverence and free to go as he pleases…"

"Then why isn't he with you?" Shahraman raged, drawing his sabre and waving it menacingly above his head "Do you believe me a fool? This smells like a trap!"

"To violate the right to hospitality is an abhorrent wrongdoing our gods would never forgive, no one would dare lay hand on you, if you decide to come in peace, for as long as you're under my father's roof. And of course, noble Shahraman, you might keep your weapons and bring any number of soldiers you feel necessary to guarantee your safety with you," Farah tried to calm the situation, desperately hiding her fear. She had done the best she could, now she prayed that the gods might smile upon her and everyone else in Jaipur to see another day.

There was a long pause as the king conferred with his counsellors on the matter, leaving the princess alone to her dread for what seemed to her an eternity, until Shahraman finally dismounted his horse to meet her on eye level,

"Well spoken, young lady. It is settled then" he announced, proudly throwing back his head "let the maharajah know that king Shahraman and fifty of his best men will come to his palace at sunset, we will eat, then we will talk."

…


	6. For all the wealths of India Chapter 6

"…it's origin however, I can't reveal to you, for honestly I don't know where the dagger really came from. Old myths told that it was forged from a god's tear that fell onto the sands aeons ago, others claimed that it was unearthed from the tomb of a great king of the ice people, some even said it was the fang of a horrible beast that might one day return for it. All I know for sure is that my grand-grandfather was the last one who dared to use it's power. After witnessing how his son fell to his death, he undid what had happened and saved the boy, only to lose him hardly a month later to a dire sickness that couldn't be stopped, no matter how often he rewound time. It almost broke his grieving heart, endlessly watching his son suffer and die over and over and over again… with nothing that he could do to prevent it. I can only estimate how long it took him to understand the futility of his actions, but the day he let his son die, he became a wiser man. He commanded the dagger to be taken to the deepest and darkest recess of the vaults, surrounded by deathtraps, so no mortal man should ever again have to endure it's horrible curse. Afterwards my ancestor forever left the palace to join the temples, many of his religious writings are still in existence though and archived in the palace's library. My own father told me this secret tale on his deathbed and in the many years of my reign it has saved me countless times, whenever I was tempted to unleash the dagger's magic. Armed with this weapon, a man could face an army with no fear for his own life, he could walk like a god amongst mortals, but with time his heart would age for him, never could he find happiness, never prevent all the injustice, never undo all the tragedies in this world. Even while holding the wrath to destroy the whole world in his hands, he would be afraid of his own shadow. Insight is what the dagger offers for the daring, though at the prize of unimaginable torment…"

At this point the maharajah's speech was harshly interrupted as the door to the guest chambers flew open to reveal a husky guard, who was obviously in quite a hurry. Realising his improper behaviour, the man threw himself at the maharajahs feet, but was immediately commanded to speak up.

"My lord! We just had word from the main gate," the man reported overjoyed "the princess has returned safely! The Persian king is to arrive here at sunset, and he will bring his guards with him!"

"Excellent!" the maharajah's features lightened up and he clapped his hands "tell my daughter I want to see her at once. Let the captain know I need every man in full armour that can hold a spear on the east wall at sunset, be it soldier, servant or scullion, our Persian guest shall see with his own eyes that we're ready for him. And send for the cooks and the womenfolk, we have a feast to prepare after all!"

"Please, make yourself comfortable then" he added, once again addressing the prince, who rose to his feet and bowed politely when the maharajah approached the doorway to take a leave "since your father wisely decided to rather speak with his tongue than his steel there's time for you to enjoy the amenities… eat, drink, take a bath if you want to, the servants have been told you are a guest, if you have a wish, feel free to ask and it will be provided. I'll later have a choice of festive clothes being brought, you surely don't want to join the feast in armour? Though for now I must hurry, please excuse me."

Left alone, the prince dropped back onto the huge, saffron coloured cushions they'd been sitting on with a sigh, then absent-mindedly began to remove the tight-fitting cuirass that still bore the remnants of his clash with the treacherous vizier in the morning, most of it blood of the enemy. With scabbard, armour and the confining leather harness gone he was finally able to stretch out comfortably, but winced at the attempt, unpleasantly reminded of the black bruises which the vizier's snake-staff had left on his arms and ribcage. That had been impressive strength, for the illusions of an old man…

…


	7. For all the wealths of India Chapter 7

Indeed barely a couple minutes passed till the servants arrived. Two young women in plain saris, each wearing an ochre coloured spot on her forehead, carefully announced their entrance with a stifled cough and a soft knock against the doorframe, and when the prince turned his attention towards them they both bowed low with open arms to greet him and display their willingness to accept his wishes. Gladly asking for warm water, bandages and a drink, the prince was quickly reminded by their puzzled expressions how even at court servants were rarely ever able to comprehend anything but their mother tongue in almost all countries he had visited so far. They weren't actually dim witted though, and after a few attempts of gesturing what he required, forming a cup with his hands and mimicking to take a drink, then pointing at the injuries and miming how he intended to wrap something around his arm, their faces lightened up in understanding. Soon they returned carrying bowls of water, several strips of undyed cloth and a wooden tablet bearing an ornate cup and an assortment of salves and ointments. One of the women handed him the chalice, nodding with a smile when he carefully sniffed and put it to his lips looking at her to check if it was indeed intent for him to drink, then put the larger of the bowls on the floor, pulled off his boots and started washing his feet. The other of the two had meanwhile begun to carefully rub a mixture of warm, strong smelling oils upon the bruises on his arms that left a pleasingly numb feeling after some time, and once finished tucked at his shirt, urging the prince to allow her removing it so she could tend the injuries on the rest of his body. Assured that he couldn't understand them the chambermaids had commenced a happy chattering while performing their tasks on him, now with the garment gone they fell silent for a moment, at first causing him to think that he was maybe more gravely injured than he had thought, while in truth they just briefly admired the pretty display of his bare muscles and then quickly resumed their babbling before it became too obvious. Gradually getting fond of the spicy mixture of fruit juices and fermented honey the prince took another sip an then emptied the chalice in one go, closing his eyes afterwards enjoying the warmth of the alcoholic beverage spreading from his stomach in addition to the relaxing treatment of the maids, so he didn't notice when another person quietly slipped in.

"You know, I could get used to such 'amenities'…" he mumbled absent-mindedly, sighing dreamily as the caring hands began to knead his aching neck muscles.

"Really?" came a little sarcastically accented from across the room.

"WHAT!…"

The prince shot up like stung by a bee, forgetting in his surprise that his feet were still stuck in a bowl, which was knocked over by his rash move, sending the rest of the warm water flushing across the marble floor in one direction and a tripping prince tumbling in the opposite, and only the dauntless intervention of a maid grabbing him by his flailing arms prevented the prince from falling over. A muffled giggle came from the other, but Farah quickly clapped her hands twice and hissed a few commands that caused the girls to pack their things together and leave in a hurry without looking back.

"Is it uncommon in this country to knock!" the prince sputtered, but realizing the rashness of his outburst he slapped his forehead with a groan, hardly a moment after the words were spoken. "I'm sorry, princess, of course…"

"Well, not uncommon really," she interrupted his excuse with a frown, taking a seat on one of the huge cushions "yet since it seems fashionable in Persia to break into people's bedchambers uninvited in the midst of the night, I assumed I should adapt to such common practice as quickly as possible."

In the following pause her gaze rested heavily upon him, her look difficult to classify, until he remembered he wasn't properly dressed and quickly slipped into his shirt.

"My father asked me to bear your company till the feast begins" she continued with a quizzical smile "as you might have had difficulties explaining your wishes to our servants and felt lonesome. I see though you managed quite well on your own to make yourself comfortable in the meantime," she added, cocking her head while playing with one of the golden rings on her arm.

"So you saw my father?" the prince awkwardly tried to change the subject after another uneasy pause, "You could talk him into calling off the attack?"

"Indeed… for now. He seemed quite reasonable given the unpleasant circumstances. I am surprised that he agreed to my father's invitation so easily, even though for a brief moment I honestly feared he would have me slaughtered on the spot," Farah explained, watching the prince collecting his boots.

"I told you my father would never do such a thing, he might be rough and stubborn, but he is… an honourable… man…" he responded, clumsily hopping around on one leg in an attempt to put his boots back on without help.

"You don't need those…" Farah noted softly, causing him to give up and drop the tight jackboots on the floor with a mumbled curse "it is warm and customary to be barefoot indoors. We have precious carpets wherever needed. Please, sit down."

The prince eyed his pants suspiciously and mechanically dusted them off, although unnecessary, then took a seat on a cushion opposite hers, now pretending to admire the artistic carvings on the walls to not look at her directly,

"I'll do my best… I mean later, at the banquet… I will speak to my father. He will see reason and not try to attack this city. If I talk to him, I hope he will not."

"I don't question your sincereness," she slowly responded, putting a strand of hair out of her face "since my father does not, and he must surely understand more of the strange things that happened today, I still can't help to wonder though…"

"Wonder?"

"Yes," Farah continued unperturbedly "wonder what changed your mind. You Persians came to bring war upon us. You had to prevent this horrible catastrophe you spoke of, still why do you care about our city all of a sudden now? For all the wealths of India … and you don't want to lay your hands upon them any more?"

"A princess shouldn't have to worry her pretty head that much about politics in my opinion" the prince countered evasively, still not meeting her stare and drawing figures on the floor with his toes "though you aren't like any I've met before…" he added silently.

"Well, there would be no need to had I had any brothers" Farah spat back heatedly, jolting upright her eyes flashing, clearly ignoring his last remark "my mother died young, my father wished I had been a boy, he had me taught riding a horse and shooting the bow when my friends learned how to dance at the temple. I listened to councils since I was hardly able to walk alone. I… what IS IT!"

Her rant was interrupted by one of the chambermaids returning, a considerable number of other servants behind her carrying a heap of baskets and tremendous studded coffers into the room and beginning to unpack and display an endlessly vast collection of colourful, precious garments before the prince.

"My lord the Maharajah is honoured that your highness will attend today's festivities and hopes you will find something from this choice of his best clothes satisfying."

…


End file.
